When they tell you your voice is too high, too whiny, evokes images
of unicorns and pink braided friendship bracelets, that maybe
you should tone it down a notch, tell them that at least you
have vocal cords that are used for good. When they try
to snatch away your towel in the gym locker room to peek
at what’s underneath, remind yourself that undressing someone
as a joke is nowhere near undressing someone out of love.
One day someone will remove your clothes because they want
to get as close to you as possible without any layers in between,
instead of trying to get access to your “goods."
On the days when self-doubt feels heavy like a swallowed
peach pit in the bottom of your stomach that you just can’t throw up,
go watch a thunderstorm make its way across the horizon
and convince yourself that you are as full of strength and noise
as the thunderclaps themselves.
You are lightning.
You are bravery in a body that is still learning how to find itself,
like a package that’s been mailed to the next door neighbor
instead of to the intended recipient.
When they pull your long hair and laugh about how
they should have brought hairbands to braid it into pigtails,
stop wishing you could tie it into a noose.
Instead, make a lasso from it and learn how to capture
every shred of self-doubt still floating through your veins,
then throw every last scrap in the garbage can.
You are lightning.
And lightning will always be lightning, no matter
how many times it’s been mistaken for anything else.